Meet Your Maker
by Unbeautifully-Broken
Summary: Assassins are killing off anyone who consorts with vampires. No one in the supernatural world can stop the approaching war. Felipe de Castro's tyrannical regime faces treachery and opposition. And Sookie can't decide if Eric is worth dying for. ES.
1. The Warning

Meet Your Maker

Disclaimer: It's not mine, but I'll keep on wishin'.

Note: This story takes place after Dead and Gone, the most recent book in the Sookie Stackhouse series. It follows the BOOKS, not the show "True Blood"--I will vehemently disagree with anyone who says they are the same. :) thanks.

Part One

It was quiet in Merlotte's that evening, so I excused myself for a moment to use the employee restroom. When I was finished, I washed my hands and smoothed my long blond hair back into a higher ponytail. There was a little spot of something on my white t-shirt, and I got a paper towel and tried to rub it off. It didn't make any difference. I threw the paper towel in the trash and leaned against the sink, looking at myself, really looking, in the mirror.

There were faint purple bags under my eyes and my skin seemed dull, my hair lustreless. There was a bit of grime beneath my nails, not to mention the faint scars left over from my role in the Fairy War. Come to think of it, I looked pretty much the same as I had looked that very night. Maybe worse. And all of a sudden, I simply wasn't Sookie Stackhouse anymore. I was someone who'd been at first ridiculed for her telepathic abilities, then ironically enough, used for them. I was someone whose parents had been murdered by fairies and raised by her grandmother, a woman who'd had kids with a fairy prince. I lived in a world where there were all kinds of monsters and creatures that I was only just learning about, and I frighteningly hadn't had an inkling of their existence. I had been attacked, kidnapped, tortured, bitten, beaten and nearly killed in just a few short years, and it was taking its toll on me. I could see it now, and I could feel the damage that had been done. And I truly (and this just disgusted me) missed Eric Northman.

I hadn't even noticed that I'd begun crying until a warm tear splashed against my hand. I hadn't cried in a while. I was tired of being brave. Gran would've slapped me, told me to snap out of it. My vision zeroed in on the little razor that Sam left in the Merlotte's bathroom so he could shave when he got to work, if he'd forgotten. I found this particular habit of Sam's to be kind of gross and pointless, considering that he lived less than twenty feet from the bar, but I never questioned him. And even as I picked it up and turned it over between my fingers, I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I hadn't asked enough questions about. How many things I'd let my self get sucked in to. How completely screwed I really was. How stupid...

_Yes, but not that stupid._ I put the razor back on the sink and got back to work.

Only Andy Bellefleur, his new wife and a few other regulars had drifted in, and therefore I didn't have to strain to block out as many thoughts. And since I wasn't shielding, I heard straight from Halleigh's mind that she was pregnant. Halleigh was fidgeting, and I could tell from Andy's thoughts that she hadn't told him yet. I wondered how he would take it. Andy was a few years my senior and the couple hadn't planned on having a child so early in their marriage. I felt compelled to give an extra-special smile to Halleigh as I refilled her glass of Mountain Dew.

Andy was thinking too hard about Halleigh's silence to notice.

It was at that moment that I realized that everyone in the bar was with someone else. Everyone was laughing quietly or smiling or daydreaming about the person they were talking to. Yep, love was definitely in the air.

I could've gagged.

It wasn't that I was always so against things like that. Normally, I would've thought it was sweet and a nice change from the usual obnoxious crowd. But tonight I just couldn't stand to be around it, and I didn't know why.

"What's wrong, _cher_?" Sam asked. I hadn't felt him move beside me, and I nearly jumped clean out of my skin. "You don't look like you're up to this tonight. Why don't you go on home? It's only two hours until closing time and I can take care of the rest."

Due to Sam's shape-shifting abilities, his mind was slightly difficult to read, but I knew how concerned he was, and I was in enough of a weepy mood that even this gesture brought a tear to my eyes. I also noted that Sam was nervous about something. Really, really nervous.

"Sam, I'm fine. Just had a long day is all. Could you pour me a rum and Coke and two shots of Jack Daniel's?" I wondered about why Sam would be so nervous, but I felt it was impolite to ask, so I stored the thought away for later. I delivered the drinks to Hoyt, his date and his friend, smiling all the while.

It continued on that way for the rest of the evening. Someone would order something, I'd smile and nod and go fetch it. Like a dog or something. I'd never felt so much contempt for my job. Surprised at myself, I worked even harder to give everyone a cheery smile and earn their tips, which I realized some were going to leave me only because I looked so dang pitiful. About a half-hour before closing time, Hoyt ordered another drink, and I firmly told him it would be his last for the evening. He paid me absolutely no attention, but I gritted my teeth and turned to get the drink from Sam.

Right then, I felt a surge of happiness so potent that it nearly knocked me down. It took all I had to deliver that drink to Hoyt Fortenberry (who was also nervous, and I wondered at that, too). When I turned around, my nose bumped into Eric Northman, and I knew then why I'd felt so much better.

Eric looked down at me; only one corner of his mouth was turned up slightly. This was a big reaction for him. He was amused, but just for a second. His barely-there smile evaporated, to be replaced with a look so serious it froze the blood in my veins. Too bad for him. Ha, ha.

"I have something of great importance to discuss with you." I rolled my eyes. No, "Hey, there, Sookie, how ya doin'?" or "How's the family?" or "Oh, Sookie, I love you! You are my heart and soul, my everyth-" Well, maybe not that one.

"What is it, Eric? I'm extremely busy right now." I focused on the door of the bar, praying someone would walk in. The door didn't open; Eric looked around at all six customers.

"Yes, I can see." Sarcasm. Ugh. I liked "amused" better. "When is your shift over? Our conversation is not one that can take place among humans."

"I _am_ human, Eric."

"That is debatable. Answer my question."

"About a half-hour, okay? Can you hold your horses for that long?" Eric looked, to my amusement, bewildered; he'd never heard the expression. I giggled (internally, because I was putting up a bitchy front).

"Of course. I'd like a bottle of TrueBlood while I'm waiting."

"Fine. Please, have a seat," I said, achieving just the right amount of drippy acid in my voice.

I turned from Eric to go to the bar and Sam gave me a quizzical look. I noticed that he wasn't as nervous, and I thought Eric's appearance might have been connected. But it was just something else that I didn't have time to think about.

I went behind the bar and got a bottle of the synthetic blood out of the fridge before popping it in the microwave. When it was done, I shook the bottle a little to make sure it was warm throughout. When I turned around (being careful to ignore Sam's gaze) I had to put on the brakes. Seated across from Eric, my sort-of "husband", was Bill Compton, my first...everything. And neither of them looked at all pleased. I smiled. _Good._

It was wrong that seeing other people in bad moods made me feel so much happier, but it happened anyway. Or maybe Eric was working that mojo of his. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I slammed Eric's bottle of TrueBlood down on the table, making a point of ignoring Bill completely. Eric raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions. I moved on to check on my other tables without even asking Bill if he wanted anything. I felt a little thrill go through me as I deliberately shirked my duties as a good waitress.

Hoyt Fortenberry's mother, Maxine, came to drive him home. Bill left but Eric remained in his seat, waiting rather impatiently. The other customers left average tips and went on their merry way, some casting me doubtful looks or sympathetic ones. I collected the money, locked the cash register, refilled the salt and pepper shakers, wiped down the tables and the bar and let Sam know I was taking off. He looked like he was going to say something, but he only nodded and continued putting the chairs on top of the tables so that Terry Bellefleur could come in the morning and sweep quickly. I almost forgot to retrieve my purse from Sam's office.

I barely made it to the door before Eric gripped my arm and steered me outside, like he thought I was going to run away.

It killed me to know I wouldn't get very far.

Eric directed me toward his car and indicated that I should get in (well, pushed me). He slammed his door as soon as he slid in beside me and locked all the doors. I wanted to ask where we were going, but I knew he wouldn't tell me. He didn't speak as he started the engine, or as he pulled out of the parking lot, or as he drove down the highway in the direction of my home.

"Eric, what about my car?"

"Forget the car."

"But what if it gets broken in to?"

"Forget. The. Car."

_Yes, Mr. Scary Moody Vampire._

Suddenly, he pulled off the main highway and onto a tiny dirt road that went quite deep into the woods before terminating just as unexpectedly as it began. Eric killed the engine and we sat in silence. A freakish, frightening, awful silence. Or one that would've been frightening if I wasn't so damn tired. It went on for ages. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are we here, Eric? Are we supposed to meet someone? Are you passing me off to the sheriff of Area three-hundred and fifty-two thousand million or something? Tell me, right now."

There were no visible signs of tension in his body. He didn't seem to care or acknowledge my presence. There was only that immobile, death-like state that only a vampire can achieve, which I call "downtime." So I wasn't prepared for Eric Northman to say anything for the next ten thousand years. But he did, and of course, it had to be an insult.

"You look awful, Sookie."

"Thank you. I'm aware." I shifted uncomfortably in the seat and sniffed.

"Do you remember everything that comes along with being bonded to a vampire?" I didn't answer, but I knew that I wasn't going to like what he had to say. "It means that our presences affect each other. We think about one another more frequently than is reasonable or forgivable. We feel an overwhelming need to be near each other, to protect each other, to make each other happy." He paused to let it sink in. I had experienced all of these things, but he was finally admitting to me that he felt the same compulsions that I did. I couldn't take my eyes off his face, which glowed even in the darkness. "We find ourselves wanting what the other wants. And feeling what the other feels. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

I shook my head. But I didn't want him to stop, so I said, "I'm trying very hard to understand."

Eric turned his body toward me slightly, and I thought that he wasn't really looking at me. He was looking inside me, staring into my eyes so hard that goosebumps appeared on my skin.

"Let me be blunt, then. I am a very powerful vampire. I have a large area under my control; I have enough money that I can use some as wallpaper. I am highly respected, in favor with the Kings, and I have bonded with a woman whom I have desired for quite some time. And yet, only a few hours ago, I felt the overwhelming compulsion to end myself. Blot out my existence. Drive a stake through my own heart. Meet the sun. I have only had thoughts like these once before in my many years, and then I had good reasons. But imagine my surprise when, in the middle of swallowing a rather large mouthful of Royalty Blended, I feel the intense desire to break the bottle against the table and use the glass shards to sever my own head."

And because I am a stupid waitress, all I could think to say was, "Wow."

"Yes. 'Wow.' Funny, that I should feel so compelled, so suddenly, to do something so drastic-don't you think? Or am I being unreasonable?"

"No...I think you have a pretty good point, there."

"I never speak without having a good point. Which is this: I will always, always, know where you are and how you feel. And since I have no wish to die, I must conclude that you do. Although I cannot imagine why. But because I promised that I would never force you into subservience or try to keep you alive when you preferred death, I will not stop you if you choose that-but natural curiosity demands that I know why."

The longer he talked, the angrier I became. I'd only felt that overpowering sorrow for about two minutes. And I never would've gone through with it. Surely Eric had felt that, too. I was too much of a coward to kill myself, and I told him so.

"Sookie, listen to me." Eric's hand flashed out and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. My eyes were well-adjusted to the darkness now, and I could almost make out his expression. He actually seemed afraid. "There are people who would use you for what you are. You know this. They would trick you, capture you, goad you into serving them. There would be no way out. And the ones who don't seek to use you want to kill you. I realize that you would not be in this position if it weren't for me, and I regret that. But the fact is, you are no longer safe. And being weak when so many would have you brought down--it's extremely unwise, Sookie. It's dangerous--no, it's deadly. So the next time you begin to have a deathwish, I implore you: be quite certain that death is what you want, because it is what you will get."

I was certain he meant to scare me, but he didn't. Instead, I felt touched. I'd never known that he blamed himself for my position, and I wanted to tell him that it wasn't all his fault. Bill had been the first vampire I'd known, and he'd been sent by Sophie-Anne Leclerq to...secure my affection. I felt sick for a moment, but it quickly passed. And Eric couldn't stop himself from coming all the way here. He didn't send his messengers, or call me, or even go through Amelia, my good friend and housemate. He was here, in person, with his hands on my face. He was asking me (because Eric never begged) to be careful. He was asking me be strong. He was more afraid than I'd ever seen him, and the fear had come from thinking I was going to die.

He was also kissing me.

Instantly, I felt better. Happier, stronger, more beautiful--it was hard to believe I'd wanted to die, even for a second. His lips moved as if he were trying to force his words into my skin, down my throat, harshly so I'd have to obey. One of his fangs grazed my lip and I felt his tongue gently lick the wound. Instead of pulling away, I bit his lip in return and he groaned with something more than pleasure. Copying him, I ran my tongue over the place I'd bitten and tasted a little blood in my mouth.

Eric slowly, reluctantly pulled away, but he kept one hand on my knee and another against my neck. Our foreheads touched.

"Promise me that you'll never again wish death upon yourself."

"I promise," I said, and I meant it. "Though I can't say I'll never feel like shit again."

"You're human. It's understandable." _Well, gee, thanks a bunch._

Eric gently removed himself from me and leaned back in his seat. I could hear his fangs retract. I blinked and shook my head.

"So...uh...is that the only reason you came to Bon Temps? To warn me against being depressed?" Even as I asked it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. Of course he had an ulterior motive.

"No," he said, sounding a little surprised that I'd asked, "I came to tell you that the FBI agents who were interrogating you about what happened at the Pyramid have begun a similiar attack on me. They have come to Fangtasia several nights and have managed to find out where I live." And Eric was positively livid. I could understand his frustration, but what I could not fathom was how he thought I could change anything.

"I had no idea that Agent Weiss was working again--she got shot, you know, a couple of weeks ago. It looked pretty serious. It happened when Arlene and her Fellowship buddies were trying to crucify me." I shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

"I had heard of that, but she seemed to be in perfect health." Eric's brow furrowed as he contemplated that. I couldn't understand, either, how the human woman had healed so quickly, especially when I'd observed her affinity for vampires and pretty much all supernatural things. There was no way she'd ingested vampire blood to heal herself--was there? Eric began to speak again.

"The agent is of no consequence. My essential reason for coming was to tell you that your friend, Barry--the one the agents are also looking for--was beaten to the point of death two days ago. He is now in a hospital in New York, as his employer arranged."

All the air went out of me just then, and I gasped. "What happened? And how did you find out about it?"

"The agents were in Fangtasia, having drinks. One of the vampires remarked on my attachment to you, which prompted them to interrogate me. When they found that I was too closely bonded to you to give you away, they began asking questions about the man who assisted you in finding the dying inside the Pyramid. I knew who he must have been and was very careful to lead them in the wrong direction. But I knew it was only a matter of time before they realized I was lying and found him, so I called Jezebel, the vampire who now employs Barry, and let her know that some humans were on the trail of her telepath, humans who sought to take him away. Jezebel called a few days later to tell me that in spite of the protection she'd given Barry, members of her coven had found him nearly irreparable. He was just outside Jezebel's home. She believes it was intended to be a personal threat to her." It was a lot of information to absorb in such a short amount of time, and I wasn't so used to having Eric tell me everything so suddenly. It must have been another effect of the bond.

"I--I am very sorry for Barry. He is a good man. But with so many vampires to give him blood, he'll be okay--right? And whoever attacked him will be caught, and it will all go back to normal." I sounded like I didn't even believe it myself. My voice wavered and nearly cut out entirely. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

"No, Dear one. Barry was selected as a sort of messenger, not only because of his ability and the services he renders to Jezebel, but also...because he is Jezebel's lover. Her lifelong companion."

"Lifelong? As in...he's...?"

"Pledged himself to her, yes. Jezebel refuses to turn him, but Barry has sworn to be faithful to her until his death."

"So, whoever attacked Barry is trying to scare people into ending their relationships with vampires. And if they succeed, vampires will be outcasts again."

"Either that, or possibly something larger..." Eric was thinking again.

"He loves her." I said it out loud, not really to Eric, but just testing the words. Barry had always had a sort of contempt for vampires. He'd only associated himself with them because the money was good. And now, not too long after I'd last seen him, he'd fallen hard enough for one to basically sell his soul. I looked hard at Eric and couldn't help but wonder if I would ever do the same for him.

"It would appear that he does, yes. But perhaps now that he is suffering the repercussions, he has come to regret his feelings." Eric turned his face away. "I am...worried...Sookie."

"About?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but truthfully, I was dying to know what was important enough to worry Eric, urgent enough that he'd be so open with me. Granted, he'd been this way before, but only during particularly tender moments. There was nothing tender about this rendezvous.

"You are to me what Barry is to Jezebel." Or maybe there was.

"I haven't pledged myself to you."

"No, you have not. At least, not willingly." And that said it all. Whether I'd wanted to or not, I really had pledged myself to Eric, and would remain bonded to him until he released me--if he could do that. He'd tricked me into it, all right, but apparently enough supes knew about it that I could be placed on some kind of hit list. I was mad at Eric all over again.

"Take me home, now." I had a lot to think about, and I was so tired that I wondered if I wasn't maybe dreaming it all. I hoped I was at first, but then I remembered the kiss and decided it was worth it.

Eric didn't say anything. He started the car, flicked on the headlights and turned around, going slowly down the little dirt road. We reached the highway in no time and only continued about two minutes before reaching Hummingbird Road. I was in enough of a haze that I barely registered pulling up to my house. I didn't hear Eric turn off the engine, or open my door, or walk me up to my porch. He took my shoulders and forced me to face him, which didn't require much effort on his part, if any.

"One of mine will be here to guard your house tonight, and every night until I feel the danger is passed. This is non-negotiable. Call me if there is anything you need." I felt cool lips on my forehead and vaguely heard a car's tires grinding against my gravel driveway. Amelia opened the door.

"Sookie! Where have you been? I thought--"

And something about my face must've been answer enough, because she moved aside to let me in and didn't ask any questions. I went to my room and closed the door behind me.

I didn't turn on the light. Instead, I collapsed on my bed, kicked off my shoes and pulled the band out of my hair. My scalp tingled with relief as the tight ponytail fell away. I brought my knees up to my chest and lay on my side, almost too tired to think. I remembered being curious about Sam's and Hoyt's nervous feelings, but I realized there were so many reasons why they could've felt that way that I gave up on that train of thought immediately. I thought about the dull day I'd had, and how I'd almost enjoyed feeling like a part of the scenery. I liked being discontented with my job--that was normal, wasn't it? I liked not caring for once. But that dullness hadn't lasted long, thanks to Eric. And why had Bill been there? What were they up to? And I hoped it wasn't any of my business.

And Eric--he was worried. But I knew Eric, so I was sure that while he was a little concerned for me, he was mostly concerned for himself, his area, and the fates of his bar and vamp buddies. Or maybe I really didn't value myself enough, I didn't know. Maybe Eric loved me. Maybe he loved me the way Barry loved Jezebel. Maybe he'd tricked me into this weird husband-and-wife arrangement because he'd wanted me to develop stronger feelings toward him. Maybe all of those things were true.

And maybe tomorrow I'd wake up a regular human who couldn't read minds and had no scars.

_Yeah, right._

_.................._

_Reviews are highly appreciated._


	2. The Connection

Meet Your Maker

Part One

That night, I had one long, frenzied dream. There were flashes of Eric, Felipe de Castro, Bill, Arlene...I saw myself running away, or trying to. My legs pumped furiously, but I never got anywhere. My fingers reached out; my whole body stretched toward something or someone. The first news report about vampires replayed in my mind, distorted. "We have always been here, and we always will be." I knew what was happening; I knew their motive. It was there, in my head, but escaping me. "It's a virus that causes us to be allergic to--We aren't dangerous, thanks to the new synthetic blood--" A grimy hand gripped my ankle and I fell forward, the scene changing just as my face would've collided with the muddy terrain beneath my bare feet.

The last thing I saw was my fairy prince great grandfather, Niall. He was smiling at me, surrounded by warm light. His voice sounded like it was being dragged through flowing honey. "The vampire is not a bad man, and he loves you." Darkness.

My eyes opened and all the progress I'd made in my dream toward figuring out who had attacked Barry and why--and what Niall had meant--instantly evaporated. Although, since it was a dream, it was probably a load of crap anyway. I snuggled down into my bed and fell back to sleep, determined not to wake up until it was absolutely necessary.

I had forgotten to set my alarm clock, so I guessed it was a good thing that the phone rang in the morning. It rang twice and then stopped, and I lay in bed with my eyes still closed. Amelia must have answered it. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward me and a light knock on my door. I checked the digital clock beside my bed and saw that it was almost eight. Muttering, I rolled over and threw my arm over my head.

"Sookie, Sam's on the phone. He says it's urgent." Her voice didn't seem quiet or timid, and somehow the fact that she didn't have so much pity for me helped me to get out of bed. Tough love, that was Amelia's philosophy--and it worked.

"I'm coming," I said, and swung my legs over the bed, planting my feet on the floor. I sniffed the air around me; it was like I'd been marinating in the different smells of Merlotte's all night. I didn't even check to see how awful my hair looked. I opened the door and Amelia very wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Not that that mattered. But she was actually envying me a little. _Hmmm_.

"I made breakfast," she said, and handed me the phone. Then she turned around and headed back to the kitchen. I put the phone up to my ear, almost reluctantly.

"Hey, Sam. What's up?" I went into my bathroom, turned on the light and wished I had prepared myself to face the glare. Purposefully avoiding the mirror, I sat on the edge of my bathtub and turned on the water.

"Sookie, something's happened at the bar." He sounded nervous and shifty. No pun intended.

"Well, that's...nice?" I said, because I honestly wasn't paying much attention. I couldn't wait to get into the warm water and relax.

"Did Jane Bodehouse come into the bar at all yesterday?" I put the stopper in the bottom of the tub and walked out of the bathroom so I could hear him better.

"Uhm...not that I remember. But it was Wednesday, and she usually drinks at home on Wednesdays." Jane Bodehouse was one of our few resident drunks. She came in almost every evening and never left sober. I remembered that she hadn't come in the day before because she always occupied the same stool, and for once, I hadn't had to navigate around her for the better part of the evening. "Why do you ask, Sam?"

"Because...when Terry came in this morning, to sweep and set up things, she was inside the bar, in the middle of the floor."

"Oh my gosh! What happened? Is she okay?" _Of course she's not okay, you idiot._

"If by 'okay' you mean 'drained dry', then yes." Sam spoke quietly, and I could hear Andy Bellefleur's voice in the background, talking about evidence and not touching the body and I suddenly found myself on my knees, unable to absorb what was happening. So many people had turned up dead in the tiny town of Bon Temps in such a short time. It was like some sick joke. Since Bill's appearance, my town had been turned upside-down. And now poor, pathetic Jane Bodehouse would never have the chance to be that changed woman she'd made promise after promise to become.

I found myself comparing my character and life to Jane's and realizing that we weren't so very different. That somehow gave me the strength to stand.

"Sookie? Sookie, are you there?"

"Yes, Sam. I'm here. Sorry, it's just a shock."

"Yeah, well...the more, uh, outspoken police officers are saying it was just a matter of time. Jane apparently got herself a vampire boyfriend. Guess who? Felipe de Castro. She's been sneaking over to Shreveport to see him, whenever he comes into town. They found out from her phone records..."

While I was astounded that the strikingly handsome Felipe de Castro (basically, Eric's new boss) would ever go for a woman like Jane Bodehouse, I guessed it wasn't impossible. He probably had tons of women throwing themselves at him. Jezebel had fallen for Barry, anyway, and he was only as attractive as the average human. And all the little puzzle pieces I'd put together in that vivid dream returned to me, and I was suddenly desperate to relate my conclusions to Sam before I forgot everything again. A frightening similarity was blazing before me, so brilliant that my vision blurred and my fingers felt cold and stiff. Barry the Bellboy--beaten to a pulp, for loving a vampire. Jane Bodehouse, drained dry for sneaking around with the undead. Less than a week apart. And hundreds of miles between them. Barry hadn't died, but there was no doubt that he wasn't supposed to live through the attack. Jane hadn't been so lucky.

"Sam, I think..." I looked around me, closed the door to my bedroom (I didn't want Amelia to risk her safety by getting involved) and sat down on my bed. "I think the Fairy War, and the Fellowship of the Sun, and the takeover thing with Felipe de Castro--I think it's all pushing everybody over the edge. They've reached the breaking point." And even if those darned FBI agents heard me, they wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about. A-ha!

"Why on earth would you make that connection?"

"Because...Eric told me something last night..and it's not so good." I told Sam all about Barry, but I used a fake name, just in case the FBI agents had bugged Sam's phone or something. He seemed to understand who I was talking about, anyway, because I'd told him about Barry before. He, too, was careful not to give away Barry's name. "It's awful, but it seems like people are blaming everything on the vampires. Like, if they hadn't 'come out of the coffin' there wouldn't be so many problems." Even I had thought that, and I mentally cursed myself.

"And when did this other--incident--occur?"

"A few days ago. Not even a full week."

"And he was found...?"

"Just outside his employer's home." Sam exhaled loudly, a whooshing sound, as the gravity of what I'd told him settled in.

"Somebody has a death wish." He whispered, but he was talking to himself.

"Yeah, on someone else." I thought of the irony of yesterday, how Eric had warned me against death wishes. And now, to hear the words coming from Sam...it was eerie and ominous. His voice changed then, and I knew he must've moved out of earshot of the police.

"So...you think that someone wants Felipe de Castro dead?"

"Not just him...all the vamp leaders. Without someone to lead them, the vampires will scatter and it'll be easier to pick them off one by one."

"And they're killing off the humans who belong to the leaders...to piss off the vamps so they'll make some kind of huge mistake--"

"--and turn any human allies against them."

"And from the looks of things, these assassins are trying to make it look like it's vampires doing the killing of people who trusted them. And that would turn every human in the world against the vamp leaders..and the attackers would have their work done for them." Sam was beginning to sound quite skeptical, but I indignantly ignored him.

"Yes!" I said, throwing up my hands in triumph. I'd never been so smart. Granted, Sam had filled in some things for me, but I was on a roll. Sookie Stackhouse, the Super-Smart Genius!

I heard water slopping against a tile floor and realized the tub must've overflowed.

"Shitshitshit!" My genius streak lasted all of two seconds. I hurried to the bathroom and shut off the water. I threw a towel on the floor, mumbling all the while. Sam ignored me and added to my downfall. I leaned heavily against the counter.

"That...sounds kind of far-fetched, Sook. Not impossible, but maybe these deaths aren't linked at all. Maybe Jane's vampire 'friend' just went too far. It's happened before. Though it doesn't explain why her body was sprawled out in the middle of my bar..."

"I know, but I just have this feeling. The air feels thicker, and everyone is on edge--even you, and Hoyt Fortenberry, too. And he has no reason to be, that I can understand."

"Maybe he's having money troubles or something. You aren't with him every minute of every day," Sam said, and he made a noise. He was being called over, probably by one of the people investigating the crime scene. Sam had a point, but for some reason, I kept on fighting him.

"No, Sam. He was even nervous while he was drunk, but only in his head. He wasn't acting it at all, and I can always tell with Hoyt--I know him very well. It's like deep down, people know something's happening, but at the same time, they have no idea." I really did sound like a babbling idiot. I didn't know where all these ideas were coming from, but I just couldn't shut up. I wished I had never had that stupid dream. My head hurt.

"Ok, Sookie...we'll have to talk about this later. Bud needs to ask me and Terry some questions. I'll call you when they give us permission to open the bar again, okay?" He didn't wait for my answer. He just hung up.

I wondered what kinds of questions Bud Dearborn would ask. I doubted any of the answers would lead him to the same conclusion I'd reached. It was likely that I didn't have it dead-on, but I felt that I was thinking in the right direction. I had to be. It made sense (and _why_ it made sense, I didn't know).

I lay the phone on the counter, too confused to think about it any longer, and reached into the tub, letting some of the water drain out so that when I got in, more wouldn't spill onto the floor. After I cleaned up the mess, I shimmied out of my clothes and eased my body into the steamy water. I relaxed; exhaling slowly, I closed my eyes, thanking God for some comfort. Once I was awake enough, my thoughts turned to Eric; I thought about his warning, and his kissing, and that tiny amount of blood we'd exchanged.

My knees drew together and I decided that that was not one subject that I should think about while naked and in a bathtub.

Since I was clean, I felt a million times better. I promised myself I wouldn't think about any conflicts between the vampires and humans until it was necessary. I hoped it never would be. I wrapped a towel around myself as I stepped out of the tub. Bending over, I threw another towel around my dangling hair, twisted it and piled it on top of my head. When I straightened, I wiped my hand across the foggy mirror and what I saw there made me choke on the air in my throat.

Yesterday's miserable, pathetic Sookie had disappeared entirely. My hair looked at least an inch longer and had a golden sheen; my eyes were a brighter blue; my lips were fuller; my skin was smooth and the remnants of my summer tan glowed warmly. Delight filled me, spread throughout every vein, relaxed every muscle. When I smiled, my teeth even seemed whiter and straighter.

Realization stabbed a rusty needle through that delicate bubble of pleasure. This had to be a side effect of ingesting Eric's blood the night before. But we had exchanged blood several times, and it had never had such an effect on my appearance. And it had been such a small amount! It couldn't be--surely, it was the bath. Yes, that was it.

Then I remembered sensing Amelia's envy toward me...before I'd even turned on the faucet.

I remembered Eric saying something about a limit, a line that couldn't be crossed. Had we reached it? Was I going to become some kind of mindless zombie for Eric to boss around? Was that possible? I focused on my face in the mirror. _Yes. Yes, it was._

I simply could not take anymore bad news.

........

Around noon, Sam called again to tell me that Merlotte's was open for business. I told him I'd be there at a quarter 'til one, and he told me that would be fine. I tried to ignore the worry in his voice.

Since Amelia had cooked breakfast, I washed the dishes. I'd just finished putting the last one away when I heard her gasp behind me. She was sitting at the small kitchen table, reading the newspaper. I could hear in her mind that she'd found Tray Dawson's obituary; I felt her overwhelming dismay. Amelia had been devastated when I'd told her that Tray had been killed during the Fairy War. She had smiled grimly when I explained that his last act (basically, saving Bill's life) had been a heroic one. Due to my telepathic abilities, it was impossible for her to hide the tiny amount of contempt that she held for me, and I didn't think she was sorry that she felt it. In her mind, I'd put the events in motion that led to Tray's death. I didn't blame her and wasn't sure that I disagreed with her reasoning.

Since Tray wasn't too well-known in Bon Temps, it had taken a while for his obituary to appear in the town paper. Sifting through Amelia's mind, I found that the article claimed he'd died in his shop. Supposedly, a motorcycle he'd been repairing fell on top of him and knocked him unconscious. He'd slipped into a coma and then died on the spot. Not quite as glamorous as what had actually happened, but it was credible. Amelia snorted and dropped the paper on the table in front of her.

"The thing that kills me is that so few people will ever know how great he was. He was kind and generous and funny. There was so much more to him than-than just..." Amelia struggled for words for a moment, then stood and rushed to her room. The door closed behind her, and I knew it was best to leave her alone. She was the kind of person who never wanted anyone to see her cry.

I got ready for work in a hurry, dying to get out of the house. I tossed my hair up in a ponytail, dabbed on a bit of lipgloss and rushed out the door--but not before tossing the newspaper in the trash.

This was going to be one hell of a day.

_Reviews make me smile. :)_


	3. The Interrogation

Meet Your Maker, Part One  
Note: The website is giving me more problems than I can relate to you. Forgive me for not having any control over it :(

By the time I got to Merlotte's, there was only one police car in the parking lot, and it belonged to Bud Dearborn. He was half-in, half-out of the driver's seat, talking to Sam. My stomach flipped over with dread; I was so not in the mood to talk to a cop. I parked my car a few spaces away and prayed that Bud wouldn't ask to talk to me.  
After I turned my key and the engine died away, I reached into my little cloth purse and grabbed my make up bag. I found a tube of lipstick and flipped down the mirror on my visor. I rarely wore this much make up, but it would buy me some time, during which Bud might get frustrated and drive away.  
Refusing to look at the policeman or Sam, I slowly applied first the lipstick, then lipgloss, then I ran a brush through my hair...  
A loud knock on my window startled me and the contents of my purse went flying everywhere. Sam wanted my attention. I thrust open my door and whacked him in the knee.  
"Oww! Sookie, what's the matter with you?" Sam cried, backing away.  
"Serves you right for scaring me," I mumbled, already feeling bad. "Bud's gone!" I looked around me, shocked and pleased that something had finally gone my way.  
"He got a call from the station. Some kid tried to rob the Grabbit Qwik. He'll probably be back before dark."  
"Oh," I said with a sigh. "Figures."  
"Yeah, I'm sorry, Sook. I told him what you told me, that you hadn't seen Jane come in yesterday, but he needs an official statement..." Sam trailed off and looked hard into my face. "Sookie, I want you to tell me what's going on. You haven't been yourself lately. You've got me real worried."  
That part of me that desperately wanted to share my problems with someone lurched toward telling the truth, telling Sam how confused I was about my life and Eric and my fairy prince grandfather. But somehow, I couldn't do it. Gran had instilled in me the idea that a person's burdens were their own, and they ought not be tossed onto someone else's shoulders. I knew that Gran had dealt with a lot in her life (and recently, I'd learned more than I'd wanted to know about her) but she rarely talked about her problems with Jason and me. While I agreed that that was the strong thing to do, it also made things a lot harder on Gran than they had to be--but that was how she was and consequently, how I was, too.  
So it was a good thing I'd had years to practice covering my feelings up with a smile.  
"Sam, I am perfectly fine. Great, actually. Nothing crazy or related to the supernatural has happened to me in a whole week. I just wish I could say the same for Jane."  
Sam did not look convinced, but he let it go. He knew me well enough to know that I would not give in. He nodded, looking down at his shoes, then turned and walked into the bar. I followed him slowly; my smile had faded as soon as he'd turned around.  
For the first two hours or so, business was slow and I was terribly bored. I was dying to have orders to take and glasses to refill so that I could get my mind off this horrible mess. It was selfish of me, I knew--I couldn't imagine what Jane's son must have been going through--and I was severely punished for my selfishness around three in the afternoon. Word about Jane's death had spread and subsequently, people began pouring into Merlotte's, all their thoughts shouting questions and passing judgment. Their fear swallowed me whole.  
I remembered Gran saying, "Be careful what you wish for," and I instantly regretted wanting customers. And then, to make matters worse, Bud Dearborn was back, just before dark. He wasted no time in finding me.  
"Hello, Miss Stackhouse. If you don't mind, I'd like to have a few words with you, regarding the death of Ms. Jane Bodehouse." He sounded so formal and strange, and he didn't look half as insulting as he usually did. It was so out of character, in fact, that I was instantly on guard. Something far worse than poor Jane's death was coming--or maybe it was already upon us all.  
I looked across the room, locked eyes with Sam, and turned back to nod at Bud. Ignoring the fact that the bar had quietened down quite a bit (the patrons were trying to eavesdrop on what Bud was saying), we weaved our way through the tables toward Sam, who casually let us into his office.  
"Thanks, Sam. This shouldn't take long. I just have a few questions for Sookie, here."  
"I understand. It's about time for her break, anyway," Sam said with a smile, and he closed the door as he left. I grimaced and prayed he wouldn't actually count this interrogation as my break. Judging from how my day was going, he probably would. Why had I gotten out of bed, exactly?  
Bud sat down heavily in the chair behind Sam's desk and I plopped down on the worn but comfortable chair across from him. Bud clasped his hands together and seemed intent on a pen on the desk; I picked at the frayed end of the blanket that had been thrown over my chair.  
We were quite a pair, Bud and me.  
Finally, Bud said, "Now, Sookie, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's being lied to--so even if you're embarrassed or afraid to answer me, I want you to do it to the best of your ability--without cutting corners, okay?"  
"Um...okay," I answered lamely. What was with all this dang suspicion? Had I ever lied to Bud Dearborn--well, had he ever found out that I'd lied to him? I heard thunder rumbling outside. What an awful day.  
"Okay, well then, let's get started." Bud leaned back in Sam's chair and looked me straight in the face. "Where were you yesterday?"  
"In the morning, I was at my home. I had breakfast, did some yard work, then got ready and came to Merlotte's." I answered him immediately and with no expression. He seemed mildly shocked and I tried not to smile.  
"Who else was working with you?"  
"Well, let me think...there was Sam, and Danielle, and Holly and this new girl that Sam's training to take Arlene's place. I don't really know her name."  
"Why not?"  
"I guess...I don't care," I said, and it sounded hopeless.  
"Hmm. Alright. And, during the course of the evening, did you notice Jane Bodehouse in the bar at all?"  
"No, I did not. She usually drinks at her home on Wednesdays."  
"Did you see any of her close friends?"  
"I wasn't aware that Jane had any friends."  
"Did any vampires come into the bar?" The way he said it (and the fact that I could read his mind) told me that Danielle had already mentioned Bill and Eric sitting down and having a nice, heated argument. And that I had been their waitress.  
"I fail to see how that is relevant," I snapped, feeling proud of myself for sounding so smart. I decided then and there that I would not tell Bud about Barry's incident or my theory about unrest in the vampire world. I didn't know why, but I knew I shouldn't talk about it.  
"Jane was found drained dry with multiple puncture wounds on her body."  
"Her boyfriend was a vampire. If she ever had sex with him, which she most likely did, he definitely bit her--maybe several times."  
"So, you think he went too far?"  
"Not necessarily him, but someone sure did, didn't they?" I smiled and tried to look as innocent as possible. Bud was looking quite red and frustrated. Good. He ignored me.  
"So your officially statement is that you never once saw Jane yesterday?" I nodded. Then something almost malicious crept into Bud's face. "Well, what did you do after you left the bar, Sookie? Surely you didn't go straight home?"  
The man had done his homework. Although where he'd found that info, I had no idea--and somehow, he wasn't thinking about the source of it. Or if he was, there was a thick, smooth veil over that portion of his thoughts. So, so weird. There was almost always a name or an image of a face...what the hell was going on? I forced myself to answer his question, and decided that honesty was the best policy. I just couldn't tell how much he really knew.  
"No, I did not go home right away. A close friend of mine picked me up--"  
"Name?"  
I struggled with myself, finding it almost physically impossible to speak his name when it could incriminate him.  
"Eric Northman."  
"The vampire?"  
"No, the used car salesman," I said, rolling my eyes.  
"How long did you two hang around here before you left?"  
"He...he was in the bar a little before closing time. He said he would wait for me."  
"Did he wait inside the bar?"  
"No--"  
"Then you didn't see him for a period of time?"  
"No, but if you're suggesting that Eric--"  
"If you're suggesting that he didn't, then you're one of the stupidest women I've ever met, after Jane Bodehouse." His words were like a slap in the face; Bud Dearborn had never, ever spoken to me that way before. I couldn't remember him saying such harsh things to anyone, or even thinking them, really. My mouth went dry.  
Finally, I pulled myself together.  
"How do you know that Felipe de Castro isn't responsible? He was her boyfriend."  
"He has an alibi. He was in Nevada, on business.  
Several eyewitnesses have already come forward and proven his innocence." At that moment, I knew that Felipe de Castro was somehow involved in Jane's death. Either he'd planned it and paid someone else to do it or he'd done the deed himself, but the fact that Jane's body had been discovered mere hours ago and he had already lined up a team of "witnesses"...did Bud not see how shockingly obvious it was? I was going to puke.  
"Eric has an alibi!" I spluttered. "He was with me. We were in the woods--we were, um, kissing. He talked to me a little, and then he dropped me off at home."  
"And you left your car here, overnight?"  
"No...when I woke up this morning, it was in my driveway. Eric must have brought it while I was sleeping."  
"So he went back to the bar after leaving you and he was alone there for a second time." Bud was convinced now. I'd single-handedly paved the way for Eric's trip behind super-strong, vampire-resistant bars. What a poor excuse for a wife I was.  
"Eric would never hurt Jane. He didn't even know her. He's a good person." Oh, God. I was going to cry, and that would make Eric look even worse. Shit, shit, shit.  
"He's not a person. He is a vampire. If they were the same, the vampires wouldn't have had to hide themselves for so long. The sooner you realize how unlike us they are, the better off you will be."  
"Eric Northman did not kill Jane Bodehouse. He didn't. I know it." I suddenly wasn't sad or mopey anymore; I was genuinely pissed off. I didn't know what Eric was to me, but I sure as hell knew he was way too important to be locked away in a jail cell. I'd spend far too much money on gas by riding up to see him everyday. And since it would be up to me, I would see him. Every. Single. Day.  
"I'm sure he would be so touched to hear of your faith in him," Bud said with a sneer.  
"I have more faith in him than the whole town has in you. Believe me," I said, tapping my temple, "I know."  
Bud looked like he was going to jump across the desk and strangle me to death when the door to Sam's office opened behind me. I knew who it was before he made a sound. Warm, smooth currents of something magical and sensuous flowed through every nerve and vein, and my muscles relaxed as though each one had been simultaneously massaged with talented hands. That was just the only way to describe it.  
Cool hands rested lightly on my shoulders, and I noticed with muted astonishment that Bud Dearborn looked neither awed, afraid, defiant or...interested. The man he'd been wanting to arrest had just walked in, and he wasn't even looking at him. He was looking Eric's hands, on my shoulders, not causing pain or even enforcing a slight grip. If anything, the gesture was reassuring, affectionate. Bud seemed uncomprehending, as though he'd never seen such a thing in his life.  
"Sookie," Eric said quietly, "give us a moment. There are things I must discuss with this man." Glad to leave, I jumped out of my chair and strode toward the door, muttering to Eric that Bud was the sheriff and it probably wouldn't be too wise to kill him.  
Once outside, I paced back and forth in front of the door to Sam's office, unable to hear what was happening inside. Sam approached me, and just as he asked, "What's going on in there?" the door opened and Eric stepped out.  
"What did he say?" I cried desperately. Hopefully, Eric had been able to persuade him.  
"Nothing," Eric shrugged. "But I do believe he's dead."

Reviews are like life-sized clones of Eric Northman. You can never have too many.


	4. Deeply

Meet Your Maker  
Part One

To my burning shame, (which I'm sure Eric felt) a little relief surged through me just then. But the circumstances strongly implied that Bud Dearborn's death was Eric's fault, and the relief instantly vanished. Sam reacted quicker than I did; he rushed past Eric into his office, not bothering to close the door. I unconsciously grabbed his hand, turning my back to the office so I wouldn't have to look in the door. I'd seen a lot of deaths, but the fact that this one could mean I'd lose Eric.._.this _one, I could not handle.

_Oh God, what did you do to him?_ I imagined Bud there, already growing cold in Sam's chair, and I felt ill. I checked for a brain signature, but I only discovered Sam's frenzied thoughts. My boss and friend emerged from his office, looking grim. Then it was true; Bud Dearborn was--

"Out cold. He has a pulse and his breathing is normal." Just then, Danielle appeared, looking pissed.

"There's a ton of people out there asking questions about Jane Bodehouse and we're seriously understaffed. New girl went home--what's going on?"

"Danielle, call nine-one-one. Bud Dearborn is unconscious in my office." He strode back into the little room and checked again for a pulse, to be sure that Bud wasn't moving into a more critical state. It was all happening too fast for me. I looked up at Eric, and his eyes looked totally blank; he was in what I liked to call "down time." He only registered my presence when I squeezed his hand. Sam was trying to calm Danielle, but he was unsuccessful; he flipped out his cell phone and called an ambulance himself. He kept Danielle at his side to prevent spreading alarm throughout the bar (she really couldn't keep her mouth shut).

"Did you do this?" I mouthed, and Eric's brow furrowed. "Eric, did you hurt Bud?" Even as I asked the question, I realized how ridiculous it was to even ask. Eric flinched as though I'd burned him--a big reaction for a vamp.

"I should think that you, of all my acquaintances, would be the last to suspect me of such a thing." My cheeks lit with flame, and I had to look away. Eric wasn't finished. "All I know of that man is that he wished to arrest me for a crime I did not commit. I attempted merely to glamor him, so that I might erase his suspicions. But when I tried--I have never felt anything like it before. It was as though his mind was a black void, trying to pull me inside. When I pulled back, he had fainted away so suddenly, I thought the life had gone from him."

"Couldn't you...I don't know...hear his heartbeat?" I asked lamely. Eric looked absolutely befuddled.

"In that instant, no. But now I can, and it is steady, as the shifter said." He swallowed, and I knew that he'd done it intentionally, to steady himself. My heart went out to him. The only thing that would rattle Eric was the thought that something was wrong with him--that after so long, he was finally beginning to fade.

"So, either your hearing went out...for a few seconds...which seems highly unlikely...or Bud died for a minute there, and then--"

"Came back to life? A modern-day Lazarus?" Eric said, sounding completely skeptical.

"Yeah...we sound crazy."

"Perhaps we are." He seemed resigned. It was totally unlike Eric. The thing with Bud had gotten inside his head. Suddenly, a huge wall inside my chest gave way and I could breathe as freely as I ever had. I took in huge gulps of air, relishing the flavor of it. A smile spread across my face. Eric barely acknowledged me, but Danielle, who was standing nearby, looked at me like I was covered in hairy tarantulas. I giggled.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sookie? Bud could have had a heart attack!" Danielle was disgusted, and I couldn't blame her. But I just didn't give a hoot right then.

"Tell Sam that Eric and me stepped outside. We'll be right back." I turned, still grasping Eric's hand, and he allowed me to lead him out the back door. Danielle was thinking dark things and imagining yanking me back by my blonde ponytail.

Once we were outside and I had closed the door behind me, I released Eric's hand. He walked forward a few steps and kept his back to me.

"Do you truly believe that I would sink so low as to attack a human for any reason other than food?"

"No. I don't."

"Then why did you bring me out here, if not to chastise me for harming a friend of yours?" He didn't sound hurt, did he? _Oh, geez._

"For your information," I said, stepping around to face him, "I brought you out here to _give_ an explanation, not ask for one. But while we're on the subject...why does it sound like you're assuming the worst of me? We were on good terms a week ago, and now, all of a sudden, you're acting like I killed your favorite cat."

"No, I know that was Bubba. I'm over it."

"Eric, please be serious. I'd like an answer. Did I do something to piss you off?" Despite the tension between us, I still felt almost giddy. I just knew that I'd discovered something vitally important, and I could not wait to tell Eric. He looked down at me with a quizzical expression.

"Sookie..." he began, and I knew this was it. The was the moment where he would tell me everything he'd been thinking about the time we'd shared together, when he'd lost his memory. He would tell me how he felt about it, about me, about the offer he'd made to give up everything to come live with me. I had no idea how I would react. For the first time in a long time, a petty fear enveloped me: What if he didn't like me anymore?

"Yeah?" I asked, prompting him to continue. He seemed a little annoyed. Well, that was just tough turkey.

"Now is...not the time for this discussion. Just know that I am not angry with you. I find myself unable to be anything more than frustrated. Bothered." His forehead wrinkled as he took my hand. I began to rub circles against his skin with my thumb, and it calmed him.

"What have I done to...frustrate you?" I sounded completely confused, and really, I didn't have a clue.

"I was so--fearful," he said, seeming amazed at the word, "when the fairies were coming for you. Bill doubted that we would stop them before they ended you."

"It's so nice to hear that Bill was rooting for me."

Eric ignored that, and he focused on a point just above my left eyebrow.

"Dear One, you cannot fathom how important you are to me. But as I have said, this is not the place for this conversation. What did you have to tell me?"

As much as I wanted him to build on just how important I was, I felt that lightheadedness rush back to me as I remembered that crude thought I'd had a few minutes before, and I straightened up immediately. I spoke as quietly as I could, so that only Eric could hear my voice.

"Okay. First off, did Felipe de Castro send you here tonight?" Eric nodded.

"He told me he had reason to believe that you were in danger. He received word of your telepathic friend's predicament." Delicate choice of words.

"And...he is not your maker," I said, in a tone that made it clear that I sought reassurance. Eric inclined his head again. "So, if he calls you to him, you don't have to come."

"Only if I value my life and property."

"But you're not _compelled_ to go, are you? You go to protect what is yours, not because some invisible bond forces you to." I began to speak more quickly and had to struggle to keep my voice down. I truly felt I was on to something.

"That is true..." Eric said, and his voice seemed more firm.

"And a vamp can't glamour another vampire."

"No..."

"But they can manipulate humans--make them behave a certain way, believe certain things--they can make their minds big, black, gaping holes of nothing." Eric's face went completely blank. I prayed I hadn't lost him, that I didn't sound completely nuts.

"And Castro didn't kill you during the takeover, when he very well could have. He must value you, for your age or your knowledge or--"

"He wants to keep me. He does believe I am valuable. He has said so, and I am old enough to know when a man like him is lying." Even his voice was blank. For one ridiculous second, I thought he was mad at me. A few months ago, I wouldn't have cared. Was I getting sick?

"So my theory is, he wants something that belongs to you, but he doesn't want you to put up a fight when he tries to take it. I think he glamoured Bud Dearborn to try to arrest you and sent you here tonight because he knew what you would try to do to convince Bud that you were innocent. He knew you would get sucked in."

"But I didn't."

"Because you got lucky. If Bud had a heart attack and fainted--I know his brain wasn't active for a few minutes--then he wouldn't have had the ability to pull your conscience into his. Castro couldn't have had any idea that that would happen." A great puff of air rushed out of my lungs as I exhaled sharply and then inhaled again, tired now that I had gotten everything out in the open. I thought Eric even looked a little impressed. He turned away for a moment and then back, looking only at my face. He ran a hand through his blond hair and came back toward me.

"Sookie...I have a good idea what he wants, and I think you do as well."

"Yes."

"Both of us. But somehow, I think he'd settle for just you. Of course, he wants to keep me as well--he enjoys being able to belittle his new servants--but I imagine that, if the situation is as you claim it to be, this would be his only attempt at salvaging me. Once he discovers that his plan failed and that I know about it, I am done for. And there will be nothing to stop him from taking you." A cold silence drifted down and swallowed us, like an unwelcome, bitter snow. Eric was looking at me, transfixed. I had a little trouble breathing.

I heard the wail of sirens and the crunch of many tires on gravel on the other side of the bar. Eric and I did not move. The door opened behind me and Danielle stepped out.

"Sam says you two better get your asses back in here right now. Andy Bellefleur and an ambulance are here." She disappeared back inside, but not without casting several dubious glances our way.

"This is all very interesting, Sookie," Eric said, and I thought he halfway meant it, "but it is just another thing we must discuss later." This time, he was definitely annoyed, and I was really getting there.

"But what if there isn't a 'later?' Like you said, once Felipe de Castro finds out about Bud--"

"He won't make any moves immediately. That would appear far too suspicious. He won't want a revolt from Pam or the others at Fangtasia." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. He stepped toward me once more, close enough to gently press a hand to the side of my face. His lips were a few inches from mine.

"I am safe, for now. Of the two of us, you are more fragile, and that fragility is and always will be my greatest concern." He pressed his lips to my forehead, and my heart thudded faster in my chest. I caught a sliver of a smile on his lips before he stepped around me and opened the door.

"Will I see you soon?" I asked, facing away from him, foolishly thinking that if he only gave me a time, I'd feel reassured. I didn't want him to leave yet. I could hear him pause.

"Before you can begin to miss me." With that, he closed the door behind him, tactfully leaving me alone with my own thoughts for a moment. Any happiness I had felt in his presence instantly evaporated, and I didn't feel that it was totally linked to our bond. I thought about how I'd become so eager to see him, how I had begun to really care what he thought--about me, especially. I was extremely concerned for his safety, more so than my own.

_"Before you can begin to miss me." _In a surprising, sickening way, I already did. Could it be because I liked him? No, I already knew that--but could I more than like him? Eric Northman. Viking warrior. Two-thousand-year-old vampire. _That_ guy?

The answer was: Yes, I could. And what a completely _un_satisfying answer it turned out to be.

I practically threw myself into the bar, refusing to think about such a ridiculous thing as loving someone who absolutely did not love me back. I'd already had a bad experience with a vampire whom I'd thought had truly loved me. Gran's face popped into my mind as I turned the corner to see Andy Bellefleur talking to Eric, and one of my grandmother's favorite phrases echoed in my mind.

_"Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me."_ Just then, Eric turned to look at me, and a smile split my face.

_Yes, Sookie Stackhouse. Shame, shame, _shame_ on you._

______

Reviews really do encourage me to write faster, so come on and be my muse.


	5. My Blood, Your Blood

**IMPORTANT Note:**

I would like to address a few complaints about the story, because I'm not sure how many people have the same questions.

In the last chapter, Sookie claimed that Eric was **2,000 years old.** Believe it or not, this was intentional. Sookie was thinking to herself. People often exaggerate when they are trying to get their point across, ex. "Oh my god, there are like a zillion cops on the road today!" I could have had Sookie say Eric was a zillion years old, but in my head, it doesn't sound like her. I hope that explains it.

Another complaint was that Eric seemed too "aloof" in this story. I am aware of that, and so is Sookie. She has mentioned **many, many times** in this story that Eric is not himself. And no, I **do not** intend for him to behave this way for the duration, not even completely through part three.

I apologize for any confusion.

**Thanks for taking the time to read this intro.**

:)

Meet Your Maker

Part Two

"Sookie!" Danielle said, and she nudged me in the arm. "For God's sake, would you pay attention?" I tore my eyes away from Eric and felt a little dizzy. Andy Bellefleur and Sam were looking at me like I'd totally lost it.

"I think she's going crazy," Danielle said flatly, like I wasn't there.

"Short trip," Andy breathed. And of course, he knew I'd heard him. "Sookie, I'm gonna need you and your vampire buddy to accompany me down to the station. Once the folks out front get riled up, I won't be able to conduct a proper interview and get statements from the both of you. And Sam, don't let anyone in your office just yet. Until I've determined that Bud fainted from some kind of natural cause, I'm considering that room a crime scene." He spoke the last sentence in mid-turn, looking hard at Eric. His voice commanded that we follow him.

"I don't have time for this," Eric griped.

"Well, you have to make time. You're under investigation," Sam said, and I could read that he was mostly just pissed that he couldn't use his own office.

"And I am innocent. Therefore, Bellefleur's demands and suspicions have failed to garner my concern. Sookie, we will continue our conversation later, perhaps in a place where we can avoid interruption." Eric spoke softly, in a strange monotone. He was clearly trying to get away from me as quickly as possible, and I felt a little offended. He'd been so eager to discuss "us" just a few minutes before, and suddenly, he was hungry for an exit.

"Oh-uh, alright. See you later?" But he'd already walked away, and I knew in a matter of moments, when he was outside, he would take flight and I would receive no further explanation.

Unfortunately for me, I couldn't fly away--I could only read minds. So I had to follow Andy Bellefleur to his car. I successfully blocked out the thoughts directed at me--I could tell, just by feeling them, that most of them were condemning. Andy opened the back door of his police cruiser for me and nodded his head. He didn't look happy that Eric wasn't with me, but I read his mind and knew he planned to track Eric down later anyway. I sank down into the seat, thinking only of Eric, Bud, and how Felipe de Castro must have been involved. Oh--and what the hell I was going to tell Andy.

* * *

About three hours later, after answering all of Andy's probing questions, he seemed satisfied enough with my answers. He drove me back to Merlotte's, and I just couldn't help myself--I had to know what he thought of all that had happened. As I had expected, he felt that Eric was completely to blame for Bud's fainting spell, but he didn't feel that Eric had anything to do with Jane Bodehouse's death. To my surprise, Andy felt just the tiniest bit sorry for me. He didn't think I was guilty, but he did believe I was neck-deep in a hole that I'd allowed my supernatural friends to dig for me.

I had endured about enough pity from the people of Bon Temps.

"Who do you think killed Jane?" I asked, because the silence was doing painful things to my nerves.

"A vampire."

"No, really?" I had to bite my tongue. I wanted information, and sarcasm was no way to get it. "What I meant was, why don't you think that Eric did it?" Andy immediately became wary, eyeing me not-so-subtly in his rearview mirror. He knew about my gift, and while he didn't exactly like me, he respected me. I plucked his answer straight from his mind before he even spoke.

"What letter?" Something curiously static ripped through me just then, and a few pieces of the puzzle clicked together in my head. Unfortunately, I didn't know what the whole puzzle was supposed to look like.

"An anonymous letter. You don't need to know everything; it's police business," Andy quipped, snootiness coating his words.

"Andy Bellefleur, don't make me spend any more time picking your brain than I have to. I might find something you want to keep hidden." I couldn't remember threatening to spill someone's most private thoughts, but I knew right then that I would do it if it would save Eric, not just from the police, but from the people whom I knew were going to come for him soon. Andy's eyes were wide and angry, but he still gave me the answer I wanted.

"It came yesterday. Like I said, it's anonymous, no return address, no fingerprints. Nobody even licked the envelope. It was written by someone very intelligent--lots of fancy words, you know. First time we read through it, we couldn't figure out if the writer was threatening all of us or just one of us. Then we realized, it's not a threat. It's a dismissal."

"What do you mean?"

"To keep it short, the writer promised that bad things were going to happen to vampire-lovers. They didn't ask for money. They said there was nothing we could do, and that if we got involved, we wouldn't find anything. It was like whoever wrote it was telling us that an investigation would be, you know, almost funny to them. And then, they mentioned Eric Northman, and how if we had any questions, he would be the man to see. And since I ain't a total idiot, I know a setup when I see one. I still wanted to ask him who might be trying to frame him, but then today we got the call about Jane."

"And that's it? They were just informing you?"

"That's it. Like the monster who's killing people thought we deserved an explanation. It's insane." Right then, we pulled into Merlotte's, and my head was spinning so badly that it took me a minute before I could loop my fingers into the latch and open the door. "Don't go telling people what I told you. I'll be in deep shit."

"I won't. Thanks, Andy." I climbed out of the car and Andy followed me into Merlotte's, evidently wanting to get another look at Sam's office. When I did see Sam, I must have looked awful, because he immediately put his hands on my shoulders and asked if I was alright.

"I'm perfectly fine, Sam. Just had a long day."

"Go home, okay? There's too much going on here right now. Nobody is coming in for food, anyways. Just gossip."

"Sam, please--I need some kind of distraction right now. My head is killing me."

"Go home, take a bath and get in the bed. No offense, but you look like hell. Do it for me, okay?" Sam said it so genuinely and gently that I agreed, but I wasn't happy about it. I felt like he was dismissing me from work too frequently lately.

"I didn't even do anything today."

"Sure you did, Sook. You listened to Andy Bellefleur talk out of his ass for three hours. Now get out of here," he said, smiling.

I pulled in to my driveway around eight-thirty, and Amelia was in the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, with a cup of tea in her hand, watching television. I waited to see if she would speak first. She did.

"Hey, Sookie. You're home early again." She clicked off the TV and turned to look at me. She had been crying, but she hid it well.

"Yeah...lots of drama today. But we can talk about that later...how are you feeling?" I tried to think ahead before I spoke to her, not sure what would upset her again. Her boyfriend, Tray, had died recently and suddenly. Her mind was a mess, and to cope with it, I had achieved the ability to speak with a new level of delicacy. Sometimes she was almost back to her old self, and sometimes she seemed more like an empty shell of a person. Whether she appreciated my efforts to help her or not, I couldn't tell.

"I'm doing better. I read a little today, and the kitchen is spotless."

"Great!" I said, smiling a little more than was necessary. This was the one of the longest conversations I'd had with her since his funeral. "Well, I'm going to, uh, let you get back to your show...I want to take a nice bath, and then I'll probably get in bed. I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

"Okay. Goodnight, Sookie."

"Goodnight."

Once upstairs, I pulled off my clothes and sank down into the hottest bath I'd ever taken (except for the ones I'd taken with Eric) and forced myself to think of nothing. I succeeded for maybe three seconds. After I'd ruined every hope of relaxation, I gave up on the bath, dried off, pulled out the tub's stopper and found my favorite nightgown. But even the feel of the cool satin on my skin wasn't enough to make me feel better. Something was just so strange about everything that was happening. I had this gut-wrenching feeling that it was just the beginning, just the tip of a very big iceberg, one which was hurtling through the water toward me, and I was the _Titanic_.

I didn't remember crawling into bed, but when I woke up and looked at the clock on my bedside table, it was two a.m. and pitch black in my room. I was suddenly no longer tired, and I sat straight up in bed. What had made me wake up? I listened for a few minutes, and I heard absolutely nothing. No creaky floorboards, no drippy faucet, no Amelia snoring, no shape-shifters wandering around outside. Just then, the moon floated out from behind the safety of the clouds, and beacon-like light flooded my room through the windows. Felipe de Castro stood there, completely frozen and flanked by a very ordinary woman who was not Amelia. I hoped that was a good sign.

Despite the immediate danger, curiosity came before the terror.

"How did you get in here? I didn't invite you inside."

"Good morning to you, too, Miss Stackhouse. To answer your question, your friend invited me in after hearing me explain how positively urgent it is that I speak with you." I was thinking of how Amelia would never do such a thing when he stepped a little closer, and though the moon's light dimmed slightly, I could see his face clearly. Unlike before, he seemed as ordinary as the woman behind him. His face could have belonged to a Wal-Mart cashier. He wasn't tall or very muscular, but his presence was off-putting. His eyes were nothing like the rest of him. No matter if he'd been born down the street--the look, color and expressions in his eyes were completely exotic. He wasn't hungry. He was gluttonous, and not just for blood.

"Amelia? But this isn't her house." Fear began to crawl up through my veins, making me slightly giddy. I tried to stall as long as possible while forcing my feelings and thoughts through space to Eric. _Please, please come. I need you. _

"That is quite true. By our custom, however, since her scent fills your home and the surrounding area, and because her presence has been welcome in your home for many months, she is considered a member of your household and therefore has the right to invite inside anyone she wishes. Does this answer your question?"

"Yes," I said, because it was all I could say.

"And to ease your obvious suffering, I can assure you that no harm has come to your friend, and none will. This is purely a business call. There is no problem here."

"Oh. That's good," I mumbled. The woman behind him snorted.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my dear. Miss Stackhouse, I'm pleased to introduce to you my good friend, Mikayla. She is from Michigian." Felipe de Castro seemed thoroughly enamored with Mikayla and where she was from. I didn't care if she had flown in from Mars.

"Great to meet you, Mikayla from Michigan. What are you doing in my house?"

"We're here to make you an offer, Miss Stackhouse. May I call you Sookie?" The vampire said. He answered for his human "friend" and his voice implied that I did not have a choice when it came to the name that he would use for me.

"Sure. What kind of offer?" And because of the completely innocent smile that curled Mikayla's small lips just then, I knew it was the wrong question to ask.

Felipe de Castro grinned broadly.

"My dear Sookie...surely you know what a special, special woman you are. You have a gift," he said, coming around to the side of my bed. I scooted over to the other side, dragging my blankets with me. He took no notice. "You can see into a person's mind. You know what they are thinking. You know their weaknesses, their lies, their darkest secrets. You are infinitely valuable--like Mikayla." The vampire turned to smile at her, and she only watched me. She never moved. The way Felipe de Castro regarded her suddenly made me that much more wary of her. She was about as ordinary as me.

Castro moved back toward his companion and gently brushed her long brown hair to the side. _Oh, God. Please don't let him bite her in front of me._

"Mikayla is the most powerful witch you will ever meet, Sookie. I am most delighted that she has chosen to join my friends and myself. She is," he said, gently kissing her neck, "a treasure."

I was seriously getting sick of this. Fear had completely left me. Now, I was just pissed off that my sleep had been interrupted so I could watch a horny vampire make out with some woman who obviously didn't like me very much. I wanted to know why. A quick flash into her mind, then. A massive wall of thick material stopped me; it was like a two-way mirror. She knew I wanted in, and she could see me, but I could only see and feel my own conscious self.

She was _completely _blocking me.

Okay, so. Powerful witch, then. Check.

"Why are you here? What exactly is it that you want from me?" Castro dropped Mikayla's hair and let it fall back against her neck. He clasped his hands together behind his back.

"You know what we want. Loyalty. Devotion. Companionship. We want you to be ours, Sookie. Our trusted friend."

"Your puny human servant, you mean." It was the wrong thing to say. Mikayla's composure completely evaporated.

"Let's get this over with. This house smells like cheap magic." Her hands curled into fists and she stepped toward me. Castro held out his arm in front of her, and she immediately stopped. My heart skipped a few beats.

"You know she must submit willingly. Otherwise, the magic is void." His voice was firm; it was like he was giving a command to a beloved pet.

"What magic? Submit to what?"

"Submit to _us_. It's very simple, Sookie. You only have to pledge yourself to me the way you pledged yourself to Eric Northman. Do you remember that process? It was quite painless, was it not?"

Confusion engulfed me. Questions started spilling from my mouth like vomit. When I tried to stop, I choked almost violently.

"But what about Eric? Does my commitment to him just go away?" I said, a little louder than I'd intended. Castro's goal was going beyond desire. It had crossed over into obsession. I slid out of bed and stood, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You belong to Eric until you claim to want otherwise. All you have to do is publicly recount your pledge to him, in the presence of Eric and myself. Then you can be permanently pledged to me."

I pictured myself telling Eric I wanted a divorce. _Oh yeah, and I'm leaving you for your boss. See you in court._

I was losing it.

"And if I want to get out of that bond with you? Do I just tell you that I quit?" His face faltered; he knew I'd caught him.

"No, Sookie. In order to sever a pledge, you must be in the presence of the one to whom you are pledged and the ones who rule you. If I am one and the same, you cannot leave me and I cannot abandon you."

"But what about my bond to him? That has nothing to do with being pledged."

"That is why Mikayla has come. As I've said, she is a very powerful witch. Mikayla, explain." The woman stepped forward, now almost as excited as Felipe de Castro. She dropped her arms to her sides and came so close to me that I could see the large pores on her nose. Her skin was dreadfully uneven and her eyes were a dull brown color. If anything, she was prettiest from a distance. She smelled like thick, dark magic. It was a smell that burned as it filled my lungs--kind of like taking a large swig of a strong alcoholic beverage. I couldn't swallow.

"You are bonded to Eric Northman. I can smell him on you." I immediately thought of Andy interrogating me earlier. I felt compelled to answer, not because she held authority or because I respected her. I literally could not stop myself.

"Yes."

"You believe that you love him."

"I do." At least, I thought I did. And of course, the first time I ever admitted it out loud, Eric wasn't there. And I would never have the chance to say it to his face, and watch him take it in. Mikayla stared hard into my eyes. It actually _hurt_.

"But I can see inside your head. He is not there. You hold no love for the vampire." A sharp pang I would later recognize as disappointment stabbed me in the chest. I was so confused about my feelings for Eric that I believed her instantly. But there were more important things to think about at the moment.

"Okay. What is your point?"

"He's forcing you to do as he says. He has power over you because of this bond--not because he loves you. He is a vampire, and they do not feel love for humans. It is conceited for you to think that he does."

"I don't understand."

She placed one flat hand against my cheek and neck. She turned my head forcefully; I could not stop her. I no longer had control over my own body.

"Your bond is one of blood. His blood is inside you."

It sounded so disgusting. I had a horrible feeling that she was about to lick me, like in those gory movies that Jason loved to watch. My skin was clammy, and for some reason, I could barely breathe. Mikayla sensed my discomfort and grinned wider.

"Don't worry; I can change your life for you. I can free you from your bond."

"How are you going to do that, exactly?"

At that moment, Felipe de Castro put one hand on Mikayla's shoulder, and she stepped aside reluctantly. He reached out as though to touch me, but he drew back at the final moment. I remembered Eric telling me that because of my bond with him, no vampire could touch me, "on pain of final death." Castro smiled adoringly at me.

"Magic, my Sookie. But the magic comes later. First and foremost, we must deal with the blood." He poised his long, pointed nose an inch from my neck and traced the air down to my collarbone. Goosebumps exploded on my skin. "Eric is much with you. There's so little of Sookie left. It angers me, my dear."

"What are you going to do?" My voice was almost gone. I felt heavy and dizzy. I couldn't control the words that came out of my mouth. It was like I was intoxicated. I glanced at Mikayla and knew she was doing something to me. The last thing I heard, right before I closed my eyes, was Felipe de Castro's voice. It was so far away and muddled that I wondered if he was leaving, but the words were as clear as Eric's eyes.

"Bleed her dry."

__________

Review it if you're in love with Eric Northman (stop lying to yourself).


	6. You Will Forget

Meet Your Maker

End of Part One

I was dreaming. There was Eric, clear as day. He was in my house, standing just inside the open front door. His face held no emotion. Then he was flying through the rooms at breakneck speed, and my frantic dreaming mind struggled to keep up with him. He was in my kitchen, then in the bathroom. His mouth moved, and I could tell he was calling for me, but I couldn't hear him. He must have been hysterical, or he wouldn't have had to search for me; a coherent Eric would know that I was in my bedroom, slumped against the wall, where Felipe de Castro had left me. He raced up the stairs, into my bedroom. Relief coated my dreamy vision like butter on warm bread. I was there! I was there, beside the bed, because I had to be. He flashed to the side, kneeled on the floor. I had to move around the bed so that I could see him. He was pressing his nose right against--empty carpet.

What was he doing? And where was I?

His hands moved gently over the carpet, like he was caressing it. I could not see his face. And in the way that dreams sometimes go, we were suddenly outside my house with no explanation, like the scene had simply changed. Eric walked with heavy, silent steps down from my porch. I could not hear the gravel of my driveway crunching beneath his weight. Once again, he lowered his face to the ground, breathing in deeply. I floated around him, trying to see his face. I called his name, tried to touch him. He did not see me. He froze.

I knew that by then, he must have caught the distinct scent of Felipe de Castro, the vampire whom Eric said would come for me in only a matter of time.

He lifted his head, and tears of blood trailed down his anguished face.

_____

A dull, throbbing pain, which was centered in the inside of my elbow, finally pulled me out of my nightmare. Wherever I was, it was freezing, and I was dreadfully uncomfortable; I closed my eyes, because the blinding light in the room hurt them. I used the hand that wasn't slightly numb to feel the inside of my opposite arm. Something was there--a needle? It had to be. A wave of nausea left me gasping for air. I heard a fan whirring somewhere close by; it felt like it was focused directly on me. I shivered.

"You're fine. Don't have a panic attack, okay? That makes this whole thing much worse. Trust me." It was Mikayla's voice, irritating and sharp. My eyes snapped open.

"Where am I?"

"In a bed." She rolled her eyes, looking just as plain as she had in my room, only somehow, in the light, something about her seemed empty and sad.

"Who else is here? And what are you doing to me?"

"People. And stuff."

I was getting annoyed. To my dismay, I found that when I tried to sit up, I couldn't. It was like a rhino was sitting on my chest. Mikayla snorted at me, and even though she was blocking me, I knew she as thinking of how pathetic I was.

"We are in a faraway land where stupid blond girls who ask pointless questions and sleep with vampires don't last very long. I am also giving you a blood transfusion. Satisfied?"

"No."

"Too fucking bad."

"Why is it so cold in here? Are you trying to freeze me to death?"

I heard Mikayla snort again, and a moment later, the fan went off by itself. After a minute more of squinting, I could see that we were inside a very small room, with only one window. It was nighttime; the light was coming from a lamp directly beside the bed. Mikayla was sitting in a chair far from the window; she was gazing into the ceiling, like she could see through it to the stars.

"If you get too hot, you could become sick and faint. Felipe wants you to be healthy when the time comes," she said, but I barely heard her.

I tried to figure out how long I must have been unconscious. Mikayla and Castro had appeared in my bedroom early in the morning, and now it was completely dark again. How many days had it been? And why on earth was I getting a blood transfusion?

"You shouldn't beat yourself up over this, you know. There was no way out of it." Mikayla's words seemed encouraging, but her tone was still cold and dead. I tried to shift a little; I felt as though I'd been lying in one position for too long. I still had trouble moving. I glanced down at the needle in my arm, the tourniquet, the blood-filled tube which was trailing down to the floor to a bag that I couldn't see. Ew.

"Your friend didn't intentionally give you away. She was unprepared when we came." Then, unexpectedly, Mikayla asked, "Is she in mourning for someone?"

"Why do you care?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Her entire aura was nearly vacant. I pushed through her wards like they were spider webs." Mikayla stood and slid the folding metal chair away from her with her foot. Reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, she walked toward the window, transfixed. She kept talking in that same monotone. Her eyes saw nothing. It was like her soul was gone.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing I didn't ask for. By the end of the week, you'll be asking for it, too. Your Eric will be a distant memory." She jammed a cigarette into her mouth and tossed the empty package on the table by the window. She picked a lighter out of her other pocket and cupped it in her hands around her mouth. I heard her thumb flicking over the switch, and she took a long drag before exhaling and balancing the cigarette at the end of her bony fingers. She did it so absent-mindedly that I couldn't look away. I hadn't noticed it before, but something was seriously _wrong _with her, other than the fact that she was a kidnapper who knew how to perform magic and blood transfusions.

"I will not forget Eric." It was the last thing I thought I was about to say, but I said it. And I was positive. I was also beginning to feel dizzy. Mikayla tapped her cigarette against a ceramic ashtray and the fan came on again, chilling me, but clearing my head a little.

"Yes, you will. More easily than you can imagine."

Suddenly, my mind was filled with images unlike anything I had seen before. They were like watercolor paintings, one right after another, but upside down, weirdly distorted. I could not keep up. I must have missed so much before I finally realized what I was seeing.

Mikayla was on her knees; her dress was torn. Her face horrified me. It was contorted with emotion, and blood dripped from her cheek. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she cried, begged. A beautiful, pale-as-death man stood behind her, with one hand on her shoulder and the other on the crown of her head, tilting it back. I recognized this immediately: it was like the wolves who had surrendered themselves to Alcide, offering their necks as payment. Only Mikayla wasn't willing, and for her terror, the beautiful man was viciously to blame. Felipe de Castro stood in front of her, eyeing her with some interest. Her pleading words echoed in my head.

"Forgiveness is only bestowed upon those who truly regret their transgressions. Can you tell me that you wish you had never given your body to a vampire?" Castro's voice sounded musical and light. The beautiful man did not look at him.

"I regret it more than anything. If I could go back--" and Mikayla's words were cut short, because the stranger jerked her head back, signaling her to be silent. She cried soundless tears.

"You cannot. That is the unfortunate thing about time, my dear." Castro kneeled, but only slightly. It was then that I noticed that there were others in the room. I could feel their presence, but I could not make out their faces. Everything was so terribly surreal. I couldn't push the images away.

"The pitiful thing about being human...is that you crave love, power, loyalty, and salvation. Did you think an _ordinary_ vampire could give you those things?" Castro caressed Mikayla's cheek, wiping the blood away with his thumb, placing it in his mouth and obviously trying to push the idea that he was no ordinary vampire. Mikayla sobbed, but only for a moment. Castro stood and addressed the other vampire. "Her blood tastes like oblivion. Could you give her away so easily?" Mikayla closed her eyes tightly, and I knew that she was bracing herself against the beautiful man's reply. It was then that I understood. Whoever the vampire was, he was someone whom she'd loved intensely. He was her sun, moon and stars. There were old bite marks on her neck and shoulder, which meant that they had probably made love and exchanged blood. And women just don't freak out over what a guy is going to say unless they really like him or he's announcing the winning lottery numbers.

She loved him, and he was betraying her, tossing her out like garbage. Before he even spoke, I knew where this whole thing was going.

"My maker has been dead for many years, but because of him, I know of your reputation; you make good on your promises. And you promised me that if I did not bring the witch to meet her maker, I would meet mine." He looked up as he spoke, and his pale face was expressionless. At least he wasn't happy about the whole thing. "She is fiercely loyal. And just as intelligent. It does not please me to part with her."

"I understand. But I can assure you that she will quite enjoy her life here, with me. She will know her true potential."

Mikayla sobbed again. Castro looked down at her with something akin to sympathy.

"My blood has the power to make you forget him. You will never know that he existed. This will pain you no longer." He spoke so softly that it pulled me inside; just like the frightened Mikayla, I was the rabbit caught by the snake. I couldn't pull away from his eyes. "You will know real power. You will know more about yourself and the world than most people learn in entire lifetimes. Don't you want that?"

Mikayla shook her head. I was amazed that she could even move.

"Are you quite certain?"

"Yes, I am." Her voice was smaller than her tiny hands; her hope was fading fast. Castro's expression fell, almost comically, into one of despair. He beckoned toward the group behind Mikayla's vampire.

"End him, now."

And the vampire tried to run, flee, perhaps even fly like Eric, but he never did. He merely collapsed beneath several others, whom I finally recognized as very old vampires. Castro's hands flew out and restrained Mikayla from behind as she thrashed and screamed, trying to rescue her dying lover. She turned away from the impending execution and faced Castro. She wound her hands into the front of his shirt. Her back was bent; she seemed so frail and helpless, very unlike the person who'd appeared in my bedroom.

"Please! No! I will stay with you, I will stay, I will stay, I will stay..."

"Excellent." Castro smiled and the attack on the vampire immediately ended. The hazy vampires held up the fallen one, who was bloody, but healing fast. Mikayla sagged to the floor; Castro stepped around her and walked toward his followers. "Escort him outside, and make sure he understands that he is not to come back again. This territory is off-limits." And from what I could see, they did exactly as he said; I did not fail to catch the hidden commands in his words, the silent instructions he gave with his eyes. Because it was Mikayla's memory, I knew that she had seen it, too. She just chose to ignore it.

Castro spoke to a woman behind him whom I hadn't noticed before. He stroked her cheek and gestured to Mikayla, like he was presenting her to the woman as an offering.

"For now, I must sleep. Daylight will be upon us soon. She's all yours, my dear."

The vivid, horrifying scene concluded with Castro walking away, leaving behind Mikayla, who was down on her knees and crying so hard that her body shook; there was also a woman I somehow knew was dead (probably from another train of thought in Mikayla's mind) and I also recognized that she had done to Mikayla what Mikayla was now doing to me. It was an endless, vicious cycle, then.

My mind did not pull away from Mikayla's; it was shoved away with a force so immense that I did not fight it. Mikayla didn't move. She just stared out the window, smoking her cigarette. After an eternity, I asked a quiet question.

"And...what happened to you...it's happening to me now, isn't it?" Fear pervaded my voice. Being a slave to an evil, possessive vampire was one thing; being without a soul, not caring about anything in the world besides following my master--that I could not bear.

"You don't understand. Right now, you are afraid. But Felipe kept his word. I have so few memories left--painful memories, good memories--they're all fading. Some are entirely gone. I forget my name sometimes. But it's for the best. After what he did to me, after what he put me through...Felipe says I would not want to remember." She stamped out her cigarette in the ceramic ashtray and finally faced me, looking bleak.

"What Castro did to you?"

"No. Leo. I know you saw him. He left me, you know. He gave me away. And Eric has done the same to you. He doesn't want you or love you. Felipe can give you all the things Eric cannot."

"And make me just as happy as you are." I struggled with not rolling my eyes, but I succeeded. The poor girl believed everything she was telling me, after all. I felt a little pity for her.

"I am content enough to continue living. You will be, too. You just have to lose a little blood, then all it takes is a bit of magic, and Felipe will come in and claim you."

That did not sound healthy. But there was one question on my mind that I had to ask before she decided to stop sharing. I had a hunch about the answer, but I needed to have it confirmed.

"Mikayla...you had a bond with Leo? A blood bond?"

"Yes."

"I have been told by other...vampires...that a blood bond is pretty much unbreakable. But I can understand, you know, the power of witchcraftiness and all, being able to do anything. So after this is finished, after I belong to Castro--"

"Felipe."

"Uh...Felipe...after I'm his...will I still be able to feel what Eric feels? Will I still know when he's near me?" If there was no way out of this, if I was doomed to Mikayla's fate, maybe I could bear it if I still had Eric with my soul. No; I knew I could.

"No. That's the point of all this. You will still care for him for a while, but you won't remember much about him, and eventually your feelings will subside on their own. There is no magic strong enough to hinder what a person truly feels for such a time. Those stories about love potions and elixirs are complete fabrications. People can be made to forget their fears through magic, and then they may act on what they feel, but they are not compelled to feel anything. I came to desire Felipe because it was my wish." She sounded almost defensive, and I knew that if I said the wrong thing, she would likely end the conversation. I began to speak more slowly.

"So you don't feel what Leo feels right now? You can't sense him at all?"

"No." Mikayla said shortly. "Leo is dead. I feel nothing."

It was exactly what I was afraid of.

"When did he--"

"Felipe told me, almost a year after he had taken me, that Leo had died. He was gentle in telling me."

"How did he know Leo was dead?" I couldn't stop myself anymore. Images of Eric--lying lifelessly on the floor of that room in Mikayla's memory--were haunting me, ripping across my vision. My voice cracked.

"He-he said," Mikayla started, her face contorting as she struggled to remember, "that Leo's new wife had sent notice. Felipe said her exact words were, 'I thought she'd like to know.'" And that was all I was going to get from her, because her face became vacant again. Her body swayed slightly; her forehead was no longer tainted by stress or heartbreak. In a sick way, I was envious of her calm. The poor thing wasn't all there; it hadn't even crossed her mind to be suspicious of Leo's wife's action of informing Castro of her husband's death. Why would any sane person want to notify the men who'd nearly killed her husband that she was now unprotected? They wouldn't. Castro had killed Leo and conveniently allowed Mikayla to hold onto that lie, that one devastating memory; it effectively tarnished any feelings she might have had for her former lover, making her available to worship Castro. It was unbelievable. It was all bullshit.

And it was not going to happen to _me._

An overwhelming dizziness washed over me. I glanced down; my skin was so pale. But I had to get up.

"It's almost time. It only hurts for a moment. You aren't the first."

No, I was one of many in a twisted collection. I lifted one shaky hand and gripped the needle that was pumping out my blood. I closed my eyes and pulled, ignoring the second of pain. My arm felt warm suddenly; I reached up and loosened the tourniquet. My arm was still bleeding. A lot.

"It won't form a clot. I gave you an injection of Heparin. It's an anticoagulant. You might as well relax." She glanced toward the door, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a locking mechanism being turned. As if that weren't enough, she went the extra mile by putting what I guessed were wards around the door frame. The door glowed blue for a moment, then returned to its normal color. I prayed she wouldn't notice the window. Then Mikayla's sudden preoccupation with her new cigarette distracted her from performing whatever magic she had used to keep me in my bed. I swung my legs over and lurched forward; the blanket on me fell away and I realized my pants were gone. My shirt was unbuttoned. But how that had anything to do with a blood transfusion was beyond me. Then I recalled something Mikayla had said.

_"Felipe wants you to be healthy when the time comes....Felipe will come in and claim you."_

A bubble of fear and anger swelled up within me, and I didn't feel quite so dizzy.

"Where are my pants?"

"You don't need them."

"Give them to me." I took a step toward her with my hands outstretched. I meant business.

"Don't fight it. That makes it worse." Mikayla grinned at me. It was a sympathetic twisting of her lips. It was creepy.

"Do you _hear _yourself? You're crazy! How can you let this happen to anyone else when you know what it feels like? Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you when Castro gets tired of you? Oh, wait, he already has! I'm your replacement, aren't I?" Her face grew hard; she flushed. I'd struck a nerve.

"I don't--"

"No, you do. That's why you don't like me. He's letting you do all the dirty work, and once he's taken me, he'll be finished with you." My voice had grown stronger, but with every word, I felt weaker. I couldn't feel the blood trailing down my arm. My skin was almost numb. "I haven't seen that woman from your memories around him. She's dead, isn't she? You replaced her. Now it's your turn." I reached behind me and fumbled around for something to use as a weapon. My hand grasped the trunk of the lamp.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Mikayla said, and she glared at me with more hatred than I had ever seen before--which meant that she knew I was completely dead-on with everything I had said. I realized that her composure was weakening in her anger. Her hold on me was almost gone.

"You used to mean something to someone. You used to love him, and now you don't even remember it. You don't remember one of the most amazing feelings a person can ever feel. And Castro knows you don't love him; he knows you're not worth keeping anymore. You're nothing to him."

In a second, she lunged at me. Loud, guttural sounds came out of her throat. The heavy influence of magic left me, and I had just enough strength to bring the lamp crashing down on Mikayla's head, knocking her unconscious. We crumpled to the floor, and the lamp's bulb shattered, drenching me in darkness. Mikayla had been a powerful witch--but Castro had undone her. And they both knew it.

A faint, tingly feeling pulsed at my temples as I shoved Mikayla away from me and dragged myself toward the window. Everything was black, and I felt my consciousness slipping. I pulled myself along the floor, reaching out for the window, or for anything to hold on to. I wish there had been a moon.

Finally, I reached the wall and propped myself up against it. My shaking fingers found the window latch and flipped it open. I pressed my hands against the underside of the window's frame and threw my weight upward, pushing as hard as I could. I wasn't sure it had opened until I smelled the outdoors--the trees, fresh rain, freedom. I heard Castro's voice outside the door then, but I couldn't understand the words. I heard the lock twisting--heard him pounding on the door--thought of how ironic it was that his favorite toy had locked him out. At any moment, he would try to come through the wall.

My hand reached out the window and gripped the ledge. I hoped I was as close to the ground as possible. Castro stopped screaming.

There was one moment of silence as I lifted myself upward, placing my chin against the window's ledge. I closed my eyes. I wouldn't forget Eric. I would die first. I would die whole.

I dreamed that cold hands wound around me, lifted me up, and carried me through the starry night sky to safety.

I was warm and well and free from suffering.

A familiar voice soothed me, stilled me.

And someone I loved very much told me he loved me back.


End file.
